


The Magic of Second Glances

by elusivelover_archivist



Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Action/Adventure, Eventual Romance, First Time Topping, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-09-17 18:25:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16979568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elusivelover_archivist/pseuds/elusivelover_archivist
Summary: By Keren GlassDuring a secret mission on Tatooine, Han and Luke get in deeper than they’d expected.





	The Magic of Second Glances

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Cara Loup, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Elusive Lover](https://fanlore.org/wiki/Elusive_Lover_\(Star_Wars_archive\)) and was moved to the AO3 as part of the Open Doors project in 2018. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are the creator and would like to claim this work, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Elusive Lover’s collection profile](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/ElusiveLover).

“I saw that,” Han said at his shoulder.

With a start, Luke felt the heat wash up into his face and thanked the circumstances for providing dim illumination. He could well imagine the cocky grin underlining the words. “Saw what?” he returned with practiced coolness.

“The guy you were watching.”

“I wasn’t watching anybody in particular,” Luke denied, marginally surprised at how smoothly the lie flowed. A new crowd had pushed into the cantina, broadcasting enthusiasm in a dialect Luke had never heard before. And among the flock of egg-headed humanoid rubes, the man he had indeed been watching had disappeared.

Tall, black-haired, handsome, and rather obviously conscious of his own good looks, he had swayed in the music’s rhythm, targeting the cantina’s patrons with sullen stares. He really had looked a lot like Han.

“If you weren’t watching, where does that starved look come from?” Han insisted.

When Luke swung around to face the expected smirk, annoyance had taken the place of embarrassment. “I wasn’t looking at anything or anyone in particular. It may be hard for you to believe, but despite your illustrious company, I’m bored silly.”

The smirk didn’t falter for a second. “Sounds like you’re dying for a little diversion.”

“Dying is too strong a word,” Luke retorted, deliberately ignoring the innuendo.

For the moment, Han relented. Instead of driving his point home, he went to buy them new drinks.

Leaning back in his seat, Luke watched him engage in conversation with the barman, an ash-skinned individual. Under the cover of idle talk, Luke knew Han was launching questions that might yet grace a desperately uneventful day with a minimal sense of achievement. They were a good team, each in his own field of expertise. And this was definitely Han’s terrain.

However, this was also Mos Eisley. Good old Mos Eisley, where Tatooine’s combined criminal activities thrived and multiplied. It seemed a lot less intimidating than it had when Luke had first set foot into the spaceport city and an equally crowded cantina. Now the presence of countless alien creatures and heavily-armed spacers no longer overwhelmed him. Close to the entrance, a pair of Jawas hovered, eyes shining nervously from under their hoods. They were probably hoping to fleece a few buzzed spacers.

The scene induced a strange sense of nostalgia. Luke smiled at himself. Nothing ever changed on Tatooine. With the one possible exception of the resident crime lords.

Several smuggling rings operated from Tatooine, which was still as remote from the centers of power as it had been when Luke Skywalker was scooped off-planet and towards adventure. Before the fall of the Empire, patrols in this sector had been a scarce occurrence. Now, patrols were virtually nonexistent. More than a year after the battle of Endor, the Rebel Alliance had neither the manpower nor the vehicles to enforce the law in every far-flung corner of the galaxy. Indeed, the Alliance had its hands full defending their newly-established strongholds in the galactic center.

Once the shock caused by the Emperor’s death had lost effect, the former Rebels found themselves surrounded by numerous enemies instead of one, all advancing their claims to power. Apart from Imperial generals who rallied their scattered troops to carve a slice off the cake, there were aristocratic rulers rediscovering ancient prophecies that promised a glorious comeback to their failing dynasties; there were the prospering owners of armories and spice-mines who could now afford to hire private armies because the Empire no longer claimed the lion’s share of their profits. Finally, there were the crime lords who had prospered on Imperial trade restrictions.

 _Like leeches on the Empire’s ass_ , as Han was fond of saying.

They didn’t really rank among the Alliance’s enemies. Not yet anyway. But rumors had reached the Alliance leaders that some of the galaxy’s wealthiest magnates were contemplating the possibility of joining forces with the operators of illegal trade. The grapevine claimed that Tatooine was the location they’d selected for a first, inconspicuous meeting. As far as inconspicuous went on Tatooine. Maybe it was nothing but a rumor. And maybe not.

Han slid back into his seat. The glitter in his eyes said that he was inordinately pleased with himself. Although the loud music could be trusted to camouflage every conversation, Han leaned across the table to share the news. “See that cross-eyed little fella over there?” he asked under his breath.

“The Kabeen?”

“That’s right. He used to work for Jabba, now he’s Tal Perd’s right-hand man. He’s been wheedling like shit in the past week, the barkeeper tells me.”

The Kabeen, a humanoid with a tuft of bright red fur gracing the crown of his head, was presently talking to a rough-looking spacer. His hands fluttered in nervous gesticulation.

“Better finish your drink,” Han muttered. “The little guy’s gettin’ ready for action.”

When Luke rose, the Kabeen was already hurrying towards the cantina’s exit. On their way out, they passed the black-haired spacer who still rocked himself to the pounding music.

“He does look a bit like me,” Han murmured approvingly.

Luke pretended not to hear him.

 

They followed the Kabeen out into the garbage-cluttered alleys of Mos Eisley. There was still sufficient traffic in the streets, even at this late hour. Han and Luke strolled along, never letting the patch of red fur slip from sight.

As the alleys became narrow and less populated, Luke fell a step behind to reduce the risk of their being noticed by their quarry. He kept a clear sense of the Kabeen through the Force. The rest of his mind, for now, was free to roam.

Han walked before him, checked purpose in his stride, and Luke watched him swagger, the long legs, the lazy swing of the hips. Han radiated sexual energy — it was in every motion, every gesture, subdued sometimes but always there.

There had been a time when this undeniable facet of Han Solo’s personality had made Luke bristle with impatience and envy. Self-assurance rooted in one’s physical assets was something he’d never really had. Of course Han knew exactly how to use his charms to his own best advantage, yet the magnetism itself came naturally. Although sometimes the seductive display of the lean body sprawled across a bunk or a chair was deliberate, often enough it wasn’t. Luke shrugged reflexively and turned a cold shoulder on his incipient irritation. Deliberate seduction was something he knew how to handle. But the rest of it...

If only he weren’t so susceptible to Han’s unabashed advances.

If only Han hadn’t been so sure of his conquest right from the start of their relationship.

A vague term for an equally vague arrangement. Their friendship had formed and strengthened over a period of four years, but the volatile, largely undefined rest of it changed pattern from day to day like Tatooine’s sand dunes. Though without question the most recent changes were to blame for Luke’s growing uneasiness.

Watching Han, Luke could no longer trace the attraction to a definite origin. It rose to the level of conscious thought so gradually that he felt no surprise at all when he finally noticed. But after three months of sharing a bed with Han whenever opportunity and individual mood happened to concur, Luke still lived with the deep surprise of the very first night.

That first time had been coincidental. Or calculated coincidence, Luke allowed in hindsight. Perhaps the thought had already been on Han’s mind and he’d simply bided his time until an opportunity arose. With Han, you could never tell. He’d arranged his whole life in the semblance of chance and always disclaimed to have nudged his fortune. Maybe that particular night was no different.

They’d been strung out and high-wired after a too-close brush with disaster, both floating in a peculiar state of nervous fatigue. Most of the evening was a haze in Luke’s memory. They’d been talking nonstop for hours, chatting only to rid themselves of excess energy. Until Han heaved himself from his chair and marched across the room to place both hands on Luke’s thighs.

“I don’t know about you,” he said, “but I feel like I’m ready to explode, and something needs to be done about that mighty fast.”

“Like what?” Luke returned lamely, surprised and a little upset by the tingle scooting through his groin. But when Han offered his hand, he let himself be hauled from the chair and against the broad chest.

Han’s breath smelled faintly of his favorite Corellian brandy when he leaned over to kiss Luke, gently searching at first, then with a resolute passion. Strong hands rubbed the small of his back in slow, seductive motions. Luke found himself pressing back into Han, holding him to the embrace and gripping hard as the banked tension spread outward from the tight knot in his belly.

“Isn’t this a little absurd?” he asked when Han gave him pause to inhale, his breaths shortened. “We’ve been friends for so long.”

“Absurd?” The capable hands wandered deeper and got busy massaging his butt. “Not the word I’d use.”

The brief exchange ended a dispute that had started in Luke’s mind the moment he felt himself ignite to Han’s knowing manipulations.

They made it to one of the bedrooms, clothes already in wild disarray when they hit the mattress. Luke felt every detail of the tall, muscular body burn its way through his nervous system to mark him for good. They were rubbing against each other, Luke no less fervent than Han as he ran both hands over the powerful frame. He savored the subtle differences of skin texture which was satin-soft in some places and buried his fingers in Han’s dark hair. His own reactions startled him — at least for the time he still had a mind available to appraise the situation — but what he didn’t have in experience he made up in ardor.

They rolled on the bed together, holding tight and breathing hard. When the tension unraveled — too soon, taking advantage of a high charge built up by hazard and euphoria — Luke felt a brief stab of regret before every thought was consumed into a glorious, dizzy spin.

Han came within a breath of him, crushing every remaining ounce of oxygen from his lungs. The low growl he gave sent yet another shiver across Luke’s skin.

Still wrapped around each other they slept, the deep, contented sleep of blissful exhaustion.

It took no more than that one night for Luke to know he was in danger. Feelings that he’d believed safely diffused in friendship flared high, at once intense and possessive. Just the attitude he knew Han resented. And if he wasn’t very careful about it, he’d find himself not only a hopeless captive of the Corellian’s charms, he’d also lose the much older, cherished intimacy they shared.

Sex wasn’t going to disrupt their friendship. Inordinate demands would.

Without ever discussing it, they both knew that the settled life eventually leading to marriage and family held no attraction for either of them. The lives they had chosen left no room for security of such kind, but there were other attachments, different joys that made up for the measure of solitude. Both had made their choices deliberately, albeit for vastly different reasons, and harbored no regrets. But time and again Luke wondered if this lifestyle really made any kind of commitment impossible. When sex entered his relationship with Han, such questions became more frequent and vexed him at the most inappropriate times.

Before him, Han slowed his pace.

They’d covered at least a mile, weaving through Mos Eisley’s darkest streets in pursuit of the Kabeen.

“Where the fuck’s he going?” Han muttered, when Luke had caught up with him. “How about we just drag him into the next shady corner ‘n make him talk?”

“Great way of announcing our intentions to everyone involved in the conspiracy,” Luke said tolerantly. “These aren’t the good old days anymore.”

“Don’t I know it.” Han let out his breath in an angry sigh. “Maybe there _is_ no conspiracy after all.”

Luke chuckled softly. “Patience, Han.”

The streets became more lively again a few minutes later. There could be no mistake that they’d entered the red light district, even if Luke had never visited this part of Mos Eisley. Women and men in clinging outfits walked the track and sent lascivious invitations after the passersby. Twenty meters ahead of Han and Luke, the Kabeen disappeared into one of the brightly illuminated bars.

Han whistled. “Now it gets interesting. You know what kind of place this is?”

“Who wouldn’t?”

“Been here before?”

“We met on my very first trip to Mos Eisley, remember?” Luke said, lowering his voice as they pushed inside the swinging doors. “There was no time to look around.”

Han grinned. “Pity.” His hand settled on Luke’s butt almost casually. Luke went rigid.

“Hey, relax,” Han said in his usual laconic drawl. “I’m just demonstrating you’re not in the market.”

“Oh, sure,” Luke returned. His voice sounded decidedly breathless, which he hoped Han hadn’t noticed. But he couldn’t count on that.

They wound through the crowd and eventually located an empty table crammed into one of the corners. There were no chairs. When Luke turned to survey the clientele, Han moved up close behind him. The hand that had cupped Luke’s backside traveled upwards to his hip and nudged him a tad closer.

“There he is,” Han said over Luke’s shoulder, indicating the direction. “Looks as if he’s waiting for someone.”

His hand performed slow, caressing motions up and down Luke’s hip. Luke bit his lip and nodded mutely. Across the crowd, the Kabeen’s red fur stood out like a danger sign.

“So,” Han said, “you never got a chance to check out all these fine establishments?”

“All I ever saw was Anchorhead.” With some satisfaction, Luke noticed that his voice betrayed nothing of the confusion he felt. Although his nervous system was beginning to overcharge, he’d keep a grip on himself just like the situation required.

“I’ve never been to Anchorhead,” Han said, inching closer until Luke felt his body heat. “Tell me all about it.”

“There aren’t any places like this one in Anchorhead.” Luke closed his eyes when Han’s fingers drifted down the side of his thigh. He was going to make Han take his hands off him in another moment. As soon as he’d proved his immunity to the man’s seduction routine. “Only a few bars,” he added with delay. “And I didn’t get to go there very often.”

“Meet anybody interesting when you did?”

“I didn’t go there to meet people,” Luke said stiffly.

“Just checking the scene for potential wives, right.” Han laughed softly.

Annoyance surged through him again, but Luke also remembered the dim fascination he’d felt watching the young men that frequented one of Anchorhead’s most notorious bars, very obviously on the lookout for company.

“I don’t think you’ve got the right picture,” he said distantly.

Han pressed closer still until his hips made contact with Luke’s back. His breath warmed the nape of Luke’s neck. “Well, tell me what it was like to grow up on a farm,” he said easily. “I figured your aunt and uncle would advise you to go looking for a decent wife sooner than... experiment.”

The closeness and the lazily fondling hand had raised Luke’s body temperature by several degrees. None of the commands he issued to keep his flesh from reacting to the stimulation seemed to work. He felt too hot, his pants tightening around a beginning erection.

“Yeah, but I didn’t always do what they told me,” he answered, again belatedly.

“Sounds interesting,” Han remarked. One small motion brought his groin pressing into Luke’s butt, and he almost gasped.

“Not now,” Luke said from behind clenched teeth.

“When?” Han murmured.

“We’ll know when we get there.” Luke took a brisk step forward and into safety. “I think you’ve demonstrated enough, for now,” he added as he turned to face Han.

Completely unperturbed, Han shot a quick glance at his groin and grinned. “Maybe,” he allowed. “So... you _did_ experiment?”

“No. If you want to know the truth, I was too shy to let myself be picked up in a bar. And too self-conscious to even try talking to somebody.”

At his sharp tone, Han’s expression changed perceptibly. “Self-consciousness ain’t a bad thing,” he said in an almost gentle tone. “And you were just a teenager. The day when I first met you I thought...” He broke off with a small grin Luke might have taken for a display of genuine embarrassment if he didn’t know any better.

“What?” he asked, intrigued in spite of his resolve to let Han’s insinuations glance off him.

“I thought you were the most charming virgin I’d met in a while,” Han answered with a shrug.

“Charming,” Luke echoed, wishing his voice wouldn’t sound so dry.

“Yeah.” Han rolled his eyes. “Come on, don’t make it sound like an insult! I kept my hands off you, didn’t I?”

While the implication was clear enough, his own reaction startled Luke. Was it true that Han had been attracted to him such a long time ago? The thought intensified the restless flutters in his stomach. “You mean you—”

“Yeah. Hey, I’m only human after all! And the night of our celebration on Yavin 4, I nearly jumped you. Remember the way you threw yourself at me when we returned from the Death Star?”

“I didn’t mean to—”

“That’s what I figured,” Han said dryly. “It didn’t mean what I thought it meant, so I didn’t act on it.”

“I never realized,” Luke admitted.

Although his breathing had settled again, he was still annoyed at himself for losing control over his reactions — but more for worrying about it. Why did he feel as though he constantly had to fight Han and his own response to the man?

“Well, I _can_ be patient, if something’s worth the effort,” Han said with the glimmer of a smile in his eyes, but before Luke could answer, Han’s gaze snapped away from him. “Something’s happening!”

The Kabeen had company. A pair of tall men had joined him, dressed in the nondescript outfit of the hired mercenary that served as cover for an assortment of small but lethal weapons. The group was advancing towards the rear of the barroom.

A door fell shut before Luke and Han had crossed the distance.

Han scowled at the closed door. “No way we can slip in unnoticed!” he said, his hand already toying with the blaster strapped to his thigh.

“What’s the idea now?” Luke hissed.

“We’re collecting answers at gunpoint, what else?”

“You don’t mean that! Come outside.”

Han had scrunched his face into a disapproving frown when they stepped back into the noisy street. “Now what?”

“We’re supposed to gather information, not blast anyone on mere suspicion!”

“Kid,” Han drawled, “I’ve been working these tracks when you were still out on the farm. I know the way these people’s minds work. They can take a hint.”

“And that hint would be a couple of dead bodies?” Luke shook his head. “There must be a backyard and a window somewhere, or at least a ventilation outlet. All we want is to find out what they’re talking about.”

“The back door’s gonna be guarded,” Han returned sullenly.

“Infidel,” Luke said with a tight smile.

Only a few paces down the road, the access to the building’s backyard was sealed by an iron gate. On its other side, an armed guard patrolled the darkness.

Luke waved to the man, ignoring Han’s exasperated grunt.

“You will let us in at once,” he told the guard, every word enforced by a mental command. “Somebody has planted a detonator at the back of the building which we must deactivate.”

The man’s gaze became vague. He slid a key into the gate’s lock obediently.

“Thank you,” Luke said. “Do not worry. Everything will be fine. Just let us handle this.”

“Everything will be fine,” the man repeated in a hollow tone.

“Moron,” Han muttered as they slipped past him. For Luke he added, “Couldn’t think of something less suspicious, could you?”

The backyard was unlit and reeked of rotting garbage. It took them only a minute to find the right window. It was narrow and set high in the wall, the glass smudged.

“Why don’t you just tune in on their thoughts?” Han whispered. “If it’s that easy, it’d save us a lot of trouble.”

“It’s not,” Luke whispered back, stretching up to the window. “I can sense their mental attitude, not individual thoughts.”

When they peered inside they saw the Kabeen, uncomfortably seated on the edge of a chair. Opposite him, on a faded divan, sat a lean, gray-haired man in elegant clothes. The two mercenaries — obviously his bodyguards — flanked him with stony faces.

Both Luke and Han recognized the man’s face from countless holos. Petar Bristin practically owned an entire planet which produced state-of-the-art technology for planetary defense systems.

“It’s worse than we thought,” Han muttered. “Big fish swimmin’ in these murky waters.”

Luke agreed with a brief nod. “Let him join forces with someone like Tal Perd, and they’ll monopolize the market within a month.”

And such a development, they both knew, could turn out as devastating as another battle lost to the lone wolves of the fallen Empire — or worse. The Alliance could easily find itself at the mercy of businessmen who’d sell technology to the highest bidder with never a scruple.

Inside, the Kabeen’s rat-like features displayed devious pleasure. “The boss will be honored to receive you,” he said.

“I have no doubts,” Bristin returned, studying his elegant fingers with ostensible boredom, “but I’d prefer to meet with him on neutral grounds. A simple precaution that I’m sure your boss will appreciate.”

Although the Kabeen no longer looked so happy, he made no attempt to argue. “Of course,” he said. “It can be arranged.”

“Good.” Bristin rose from the divan, dusting himself down with a mistrustful glance at the flea-bitten cushions.

As quietly as they could, Han and Luke inched back from the window.

The guard still leaned by the gate and hastened to unlock it for them.

“Everything is as it should be,” Luke said, using the calm, hypnotic tone again. “You’ve taken care of everything.”

“Good work,” Han added jovially.

No sooner had they crossed the street, hiding from view in a shaded doorway, when the Kabeen emerged from the bar. He looked ready for another forced march.

“We didn’t even get a drink at that place!” Han said morosely. “And now we’ll have to split up to follow both parties.”

Luke shook his head. “We won’t. It’s an easy guess where the little guy will be headed.”

“Perd’s place, right.”

Han fell silent when a pair of tall silhouettes slid through the opening gate and checked the street. Bristin followed shortly after.

This time, the chase was less tedious. On the next corner, Bristin’s bulldogs hired an aircab. Han and Luke followed quite comfortably in the next available ‘cab and told the pilot to keep going when the magnate’s party stopped at a sprawling villa in a far-flung district of Mos Eisley.

After that, they could finally retire to their own, less luxurious lodging.

 

Luke undressed in the bathroom, his mind drifting, drawn back to the provocative glint in Han’s eyes, the surly set of his mouth when he’d said, _G’night, kid_.

They had paused in front of Luke’s room, and he’d come close to inviting Han inside for a goodnight-cup, some talk, and...

Luke told himself that he knew only too damn well what would have happened next.

On the other hand, Han didn’t seem to mind waiting, and sometimes his moods went through lightspeed switches, always catching Luke unawares. Which was the reason why he hesitated to make a move of his own. Just as Han could be charming and passionate, he could be abrupt and closed-off. And unlike him, Luke was never so sure of his timing.

Stripping off his underwear, Luke wondered if he was making himself wait rather than Han — if only to prove his control. Just when had they entered that contest of formidable stubbornness? Or was it just him?

Luke started the shower and stood under the pleasantly cool water for a long time. Now that he could relax, he wondered at his own snappish temper earlier in the evening. Combined with the waiting for news, Han’s insufferable smugness had grated on his nerves, true, but in hindsight, his reactions seemed exaggerated.

Luke sighed. He felt good, almost as if he’d finally taken that overdue vacation... until a small noise from the room jolted him.

He’d barely belted his robe when Han appeared in the bathroom door which he gave the mere indication of a knock. A towel was decoratively draped across his shoulder, and he offered an apologetic grin. “My shower ain’t working.”

Luke let his shoulders sink, exasperated, amused and infuriated all at once. “That is neither an intelligent nor a very original excuse,” he finally said.

Dark eyes widened in an effort to simulate shocked innocence. “Excuse for what?” Han shook his head. “Besides, to quote you, my intelligence never crossed the limits of gambling, repairing engines, and half-decent shoot-outs in between.”

“Okay. Fine,” Luke said. “Get in and shower.”

Suspicion entered Han’s eyes. Very obviously he hadn’t expected such instant compliance, but after a moment’s hesitation he reached for the tap in the shower stall.

“It’s freezing cold!” he complained, snatching his hand away from the timid trickle.

“What did you expect? This is Tatooine. We’re lucky they’ve got real water at all.”

When Luke turned back into the room, a bottle of wine and two glasses had appeared on the table and shone innocently in the room’s suitably dimmed lighting.

“I thought you’d come for a shower,” he said.

“A shower, a drink, and some talk,” Han amended. “Since you’re playing hard to get tonight.”

Sudden amusement dispersed Luke’s irritation, and he hid a quick grin when he settled into a comfortable wicker-chair, silently laughing at himself. “Now that the shower part has been canceled, we could move on to the drinks,” he suggested.

“I guess we could.” Han opened the bottle, handed him a filled glass but didn’t sit down. Instead, he leaned against the wall by the window and sent a distracted glance out into the night.

“Worried about Bristin and who else might be involved?” Luke guessed.

Han shook his head. “No. In fact — I was just thinking about the days back when... Used to spend quite some time out here.”

“When you worked for Jabba.”

“We used to get along.” Han shrugged. “Not all the guys working for him were Boba Fett decked out in explosives.” He took a sip of wine, gave a grunt of approval, and added, “Just look at us now. You’ve turned into a Jedi, and I’m out of work. Except for the occasional undercover job.”

“I remember a whole crowd of Admirals offering you jobs by the dozen,” Luke said, wondering where this conversation was leading. “Anything from your own command to a governorship—”

“Oh Lords, spare me!” Han chuckled, but the wistful expression didn’t quite disappear under the bright veneer of humor. “I’m not command material, as well they knew. They were just desperate enough to enlist anyone.”

“So — are you considering a second stab at smuggling?” Luke asked.

“Nah...” Han reached for the bottle and refilled his glass. “That scene has changed a lot. Back in the early days, most of the guys used too much spice and turned paranoid occasionally, but they all respected a deal. Now everyone’s armed to the teeth and ready to cut each other’s throat. Besides, where’s the fun in smuggling with no Empire to interfere with free trade?”

With a soft laugh, Luke drained his glass and helped himself to a refill. “Living on the edge just for the fun of it, huh? You expect me to believe that?”

Han surprised him with a rare, pensive glance. “No,” he said. “That’s not it either. I don’t know...”

“You’ll find out eventually,” Luke answered, choosing a different, gentler tone which betrayed some of his amazement at Han’s ruminating mood.

“I suppose.” When Han met his eyes, his gaze was thoughtful and open, but his expression changed again at the usual, mercurial speed.

Luke felt sudden warmth rush to his stomach when Han crossed the distance, raking him with a charged gaze. Han set his glass down on the table, but his eyes never left Luke. This was the overture he’d expected, but still it took him by surprise when a suggestive grin developed on Han’s mouth.

“At least I can’t complain about lack of interesting company,” he said, standing a pace away from Luke’s chair.

“Thanks,” Luke said softly. “But you don’t have to flatter me. Come here.”

Han took the glass from his hand and leaned over. “See?” he said in a lowered voice, “I _can_ be good at taking orders — if they’re reasonable.”

His breath brushed Luke’s face and next his mouth, and the playful caress immediately made Luke’s stomach tingle. He wrapped a hand around Han’s neck and emphatically pulled him into the kiss. A hand on each of the chair’s armrests, Han trapped him there while his tongue slid over Luke’s lips, played across his teeth, teasing until he opened up to be stormed and conquered. It was incredible what a single kiss could still do to him.

Instantly electrified, Luke ran his hands down over Han’s chest and stomach and up again, to tease his nipples through the shirt with circling fingers. Han’s tongue invaded his mouth with sure anticipation of victory, reminding him of uncounted, blissful surrenders. Dizzy pleasure spread throughout Luke’s body and gathered in his groin where a lifting erection struggled with the loose robe. When he began to pull Han’s shirt out of his pants, Han released his mouth briefly and murmured, “Wait...”

Fighting to still his breathing, Luke leaned back in the chair and succumbed to Han’s knowledge of him. Lips and teeth nipped at his throat, gradually wandering down to his chest while a strong hand played across his groin with surprising delicacy. In odd fascination, Luke listened to the small, wounded sounds coming from his throat. He squirmed when lean fingers delved inside the robe to tease along his erection.

“We’d better move over to the bed,” Luke managed, stifling a gasp.

“Later,” Han said, but his voice had turned rough and the mere sound of it brought a shiver of anticipated delight to Luke’s skin.

He couldn’t help it. The sight, sound and scent of Han alone quickened his body, and every touch added to the firebrand spreading outward from the pit of his stomach. And why, Luke wondered hazily, had he ever worried about fighting this irresistible magnetism?

Running both hands down his sides, Han parted Luke’s robe and flicked his tongue across each nipple while he stroked his thighs. Luke moaned, pressing up towards him.

“You’re in for something—”

“I can’t wait.” Han chuckled as he lowered himself to his knees and gripped Luke’s hips.

At the first, light touch of a warm mouth to his erection, Luke’s head jerked back. He was painfully hard in a second, and in another Han would have him ready to plead and beg — but no plea was necessary.

Circling the shaft with his fingers and tongue, Han devoted his entire attention to driving him deeper into insane pleasure. Even his harsh breaths felt like caresses to Luke’s sensitized nerves. He clutched the chair’s arms and tried to push up, with no thought to spare for pride or dignity.

Han’s mouth engulfed him, moved on him in rhythmic motions that sent a rampaging pulse through his whole body. Writhing in the chair, Luke forced his eyes open and shivered at the sight of Han’s head bobbing over his groin. But with the instant flush of heat a helpless tenderness welled up and he whispered Han’s name before he realized.

“Han!” he gasped again, running his fingers through the soft, dark hair.

Fire consumed his nerves as Han sucked harder, raked his teeth across tender skin with tantalizing pressure. Luke lost himself entirely to the rhythm beaten out in his blood. He pushed up again and again, and in another moment, his flaring arousal became an ache, an overwhelming need for release.

The warning he tried to articulate came out in a wordless moan. Heat throbbed in his groin, then blazed. Luke heard himself give a choked cry as he came, one heatwave after the next climbing through his body.

Time and place slowly settled back into their usual order when Han leaned over him and brushed his lips over Luke’s forehead. “Guess we’re ready for bed,” he suggested in a low voice.

Shedding the crumpled robe, Luke walked over to the bed and started to undress Han, taking his time with each piece of clothing, aware of Han’s liquid gaze on him as he finally slid the zippers down. Briefly, his fingers curled around the column of rigid flesh, and Han breathed sharply.

When they lay down together, Luke expected another flare of Corellian passion, but Han just settled in beside him, stroking him with languid motions. Head pillowed on Han’s shoulder, Luke returned the caresses and listened to his breath.

“What’s up?” he asked after a while.

Han’s eyes had become distant, and there was the unfamiliar insecurity again, swept aside instantly as he blinked. “Being here brings back a few things...” Han shrugged. “You know, the life I used to lead and the life I have now. Lots of crap.”

“I wouldn’t call it that.”

“Whatever.” Han leaned in for a breathy kiss, then added, “But I got better things to keep me busy right now.”

“Flattery,” Luke said. “I know what that means.”

“Sure? You might be in for a surprise, kid...”

But before Luke could think of an answer, Han’s mouth claimed his breath and stirred rekindling excitement from his nerves.

They’d never spent so much time kissing before, Luke thought fuzzily, clasped to the taller body, then buried under whipcord muscles and taut flesh when Han moved over him. He sighed as he felt himself harden again slowly to the lush rhythm of Han’s hips pressing into him. An urgent erection stabbed Luke’s belly, and Han’s muffled gasps transformed into heat running across his skin in delicious shivers.

When Han slid off him again, Luke held on instinctively, unwilling to allow for another break. Han’s eyes glittered in the dim illumination. He dropped playful kisses on Luke’s mouth and chin while long fingers drifted across Luke’s groin, danced up the inside of his thigh, suggesting, teasing, demanding, until they finally explored between his legs and started to probe into him.

Luke’s breath caught as tight muscles spasmed around an intruding finger. He shifted on the bed and opened his legs, eyes shut tightly in full concentration on the sensations that speared through him. Han’s breath had quickened and warmed his face.

Luke’s fingers followed the harsh pulse down Han’s chest, across the firm wall of muscles over his stomach, to finally curl around the strong, pulsing flesh. Han blew a moan against his ear and nibbled the lobe while his fingers continued to prepare Luke, working into him with gentle pressure.

Luke swallowed tightly. A wild surge of desire swept through his thrilling nerves and made him ready for anything. Ready to fly...

He looked up at Han and read the question in his eyes. A question Han didn’t want to, didn’t need to ask. And yet his expression combined dark fire with... reluctance, Luke thought, a very vulnerable longing he’d never seen before, as if Han anticipated the possibility of being denied.

“Yeah, I want to,” Luke whispered dryly, raising his head to breathe a kiss against Han’s lips.

Han scooted to the edge of the bed and groped around for his pants. A small tube had materialized in the palm of his hand when he turned back. He’d prepared for everything. The worst thing was, Luke couldn’t summon the smallest fragment of annoyance.

Coaxed into abandon by Han’s kisses, he pulled up his knees, tried to relax, anticipation and arousal and nervous tension chasing themselves through his body. Han set the rhythm, and his pulse danced to the tune. Vibrating inside, Luke drew him closer —

Rigid and big and covered in satin, Han’s cock entered him stroke by stroke. Instinct prompted Luke to twist away from it, but the hands that had parted him now pinned his hips firmly. Someone was panting heavily — and it wasn’t Han who’d pressed his lips tight in concentration.

Exasperated at his loss of control, Luke tried to ease his breaths and found that he had not an ounce of energy left. All of himself was locked down where ferocious heat and pressure mixed with the sting of pain that lent its sharp edge to the pleasure. His body moved of its own volition. Hips thrust up, fingers dug into broad shoulders, and the muscles in his legs tensed as he pulled his knees up higher.

A warm palm landed on his stomach and rubbed the clenching muscles there. With a final shove, Han completed the penetration. Luke released the moan that had been choking his breath for a while.

Han looked at him with hazy eyes. “Okay?”

“Yes, I’m... I’m fine,” Luke said hoarsely.

The gentling hand left his stomach to tousle his hair and cradle his cheek. Luke turned his face and dropped a kiss on the palm. Han was inside him, touching him in places that responded by sending an instant, rocketing thrill through him. The powerful body was sleek with perspiration when Luke sent his hands across Han’s chest and belly to rub and coax and demand shamelessly.

Han ravaged him but with sure instinct kept him on the fine line between pleasure and pain each time he withdrew and drove in again with a sharp thrust of the hips. Hot and raw and full of Han, Luke suspected that he played on the slight discomfort to prolong the delight... a scalding kind of delight which entered him like a sparkling intoxicant, riding along his bloodstream, unstoppable and overpowering.

After the first, driving plunges, Han settled into a steady pace. Allowed to catch his breath, Luke joined his rhythm, remote thoughts of the stormy Corellian ocean, of relentless waves beating against the shore crossing his mind. Desire became a gale that battered his senses. Moans vibrated in his throat, but his mouth was filled by Han’s tongue, moving in rhythm with his hips and his cock.

It went on until Luke’s sides hurt with the panting breaths he drew and the need for release became a fierce ache radiating from his belly through his entire frame. Until he pushed his hips up to meet the relentless, vigorous thrusts and clutched at Han’s shoulders to demand fulfillment.

“What do you want?” Han asked huskily, teasing his tongue across the rim of Luke’s ear.

“You know,” he gasped.

Han chuckled breathlessly. “Just say it, Luke. Just once.”

“Han...”

Instead of an answer, Han rocked his hips in a lighter, taunting rhythm.

“Please,” he rasped out — then, “I wanna be able to walk tomorrow.”

“Stop complaining,” Han whispered and took his mouth.

And then he began to thrust in earnest.

Luke’s senses were stormed by piercing thrills that lifted him into a zone of weightless suspension. Burning hot and cold the next instant, he felt swept up like a starship soaring through icy blue atmosphere, carried higher and higher until the air became too thin to breathe. Over a great distance, he heard the moans and breathless pleas that left his mouth, adrift on the gale, battered by wild sensations as if blasting sunwinds had caught him and burst through him, blowing him to the limits of endurance, reeling him into the invisible fire that consumed every thought, every sense of self.

And Han met him there, on the very brink of ecstasy, with a sharp writhe and tilt of the hips that wrung a shout from Luke, and another. His entire body jerked in the grip of a fierce orgasm, pushed along and taken up into Han’s pounding rhythm. Releasing himself beyond control, Han pinned him to the mattress, the fingers of one hand knotted tightly through Luke’s hair, the other clenched into his buttock. His raspy breaths went out over Luke’s face, labored with the plunge and shove that speared through ripples of overwhelming pleasure and spun them out. Faster and faster — and Luke found he couldn’t breathe through the build of arousal that gripped Han and played across his own still jangling nerves.

 _Come_ , he thought, _come inside me_.

As if he’d said it loud and clear, Han reared up, every muscle clenching under a sheen of sweat, and their eyes met through a haze. Weightless, breathless, Luke raised a hand to his face.

 _Have me, all of me_.

A deep shudder went through Han’s frame, the dark head falling forward as his hips slammed up against Luke in quick, hard jabs. With each throaty groan he released, liquid heat spent itself deep inside, and each spurt, each jolt of his cock sent a shiver up Luke’s spine. His inner muscles clenched around Han’s rigid length as if he’d never let go.

With a low grunt of satisfaction, Han let his head drop against Luke’s shoulder. For a long, silent pause he stayed like that, hips still pressed against Luke, while his hands stroked him lazily and their breathing calmed.

Luke ignored the faint sting of jealousy as he wondered, through a golden cloud of contentment, who Han had done this with and how often. It didn’t matter.

“My gods,” he murmured at length, when it seemed safe to speak again. His throat felt sore as if he’d screamed. Perhaps he had, and the thought that he might have done or said things he couldn’t now remember was slightly unsettling.

Han withdrew from him to nuzzle his ear. “I take it that means it was good.”

“Yeah,” Luke sighed. “I hope this boosts your ego enough to last for some time.”

Another long pause followed. Luke was beginning to wonder if Han had fallen asleep when he cleared his throat. “Didn’t take much to make it good,” Han said in a voice that was still raspy. “You’re really... something, Luke. Nothing compares.”

Luke felt his breath catch. Without a word, he tugged Han into a close embrace. The last thing he half-felt before drifting into sleep was a kiss brushed against his cheek and a hand settling over his relaxed genitals with possessive warmth.

* * *

The next day, when Tatooine’s twin suns glared down into the streets of Mos Eisley, fried every living thing in sight and boiled liquid fuels in the farmers’ outmoded vehicles, Luke had a lot of time to remember the last night.

Posted outside Petar Bristin’s temporary residence to watch for eventual visitors, he had nothing to contemplate but the dusty street, the domed, windowless structure faced in white adobe and the sirrah-palms that flanked it. As in most other buildings, the living quarters would be underground.

A trickle of sweat slowly crept down Luke’s temple, and he swiped at it. After years in space, he was no longer accustomed to Tatooine’s feral climate. The clothes he wore — dust-colored tunic and matching pants — felt coarse against his skin, and too warm. Without giving it any thought, Luke tapped into the Force to measure his pulse and lower his skin temperature until a welcome coolness spread inside him. He was about to apply the soothing effects of the Force to another part of his body that still felt raw and sore, but why waste energy on such a minor discomfort? Or perhaps he even _preferred_ to be reminded...

The last night had left a deep, vibrant glow inside him. As time straggled on, Luke began to drift in and out of reminiscence. It had been too good, he admitted, much too perfect. And if that made him another name on Han Solo’s certainly extensive list of conquests, what about it? Only mildly surprised, Luke admitted that he no longer cared. He rubbed his thumb over his chin. Perhaps, he amended, he didn’t care so long as his name stayed the last on that hypothetical list.

 _You wish_ , he scoffed at himself. Somewhere in the back rooms of his mind lingered too many romantic illusions, and part of him still wanted to make them come real. At least in this one case.

 _Stop complaining_ , he heard Han’s breathless voice again, and the memory made his skin crawl most pleasantly.

Perhaps he only had to develop a more relaxed attitude towards sex. But Luke couldn’t quite banish the part of him that always, insistently demanded more. More than simple pleasures, more than his share. As long as he could remember, that spark of restlessness had troubled him, like a small voice questioning every success, every sense of achievement and security. And right now, it whispered again, from the afterglow of sensual enchantment that lingered everywhere in his body.

Coming awake captive in Han’s arms this morning, Han’s sleepy heaviness warm against his back, Luke had refused to wonder, analyze, or doubt. The dazzling sunrise was like a promise he’d long expected, and he knew that he wanted Han — all for himself, for good.

Across the street, a slide-door was pushed open, the movement forcing Luke’s attention back to his surroundings. One of Bristin’s bodyguards emerged, his loose shirt certainly hiding a weapons belt. But the man didn’t look as if he was out for serious business. He ambled towards a parked glider, popped the trunk open and retrieved a case, then carried it back inside.

Whatever that case was wanted for, the man’s relaxed attitude gave Luke the distinct impression that Bristin’s party wasn’t preparing for action yet. Perhaps Tal Perd had decided to make the over-confident magnate wait to temper his arrogance, or they were still negotiating the location for their meeting. Or perhaps both parties were waiting for someone else to arrive on Tatooine. Luke sighed to himself. While Han had set out to reap the black market for information, he would most probably spend the whole day contemplating flaky paint and fine sand drifting leisurely down the street.

An aircab wobbled past, chortling from asthmatic jets, and Luke ducked deeper into the shadow of a moisture dome. Over the past hour that protective shadow had shrunk to a pitiful puddle and would soon disappear altogether. With a glance at the blazing twin suns, Luke began to scan his surroundings for a new watchpost.

Further up the street, the shaded doorway of an obviously abandoned shop looked inviting. If he was lucky, he could even manipulate the lock to escape the sweltering heat and watch Bristin’s residence through the dust-blinded window.

Luke had just slipped into the doorway when a side-entrance opened and flapped shut again — and before he could react, a familiar baritone said, “Well, Skywalker, _that’s_ a surprise!”

Luke wheeled to stare at someone who seemed almost a mirror image of himself, clad in the same indestructible homespun, a mop of sun-bleached hair falling across his forehead. They were almost the same height, but the other man’s eyes shone dusky brown under dark eyebrows.

“Deak?” Luke hazarded.

The young man grinned. “Who else? What’re you doing here, sneaking around Mos Eisley? Man, we’ve heard some wild stories about you! Most of ‘em plain jive, I bet, but you gotta tell me one thing...”

“Deak!” Luke heard someone approach and cast a worried glance over his shoulder. “This isn’t the time—”

“We can always go inside.” Deak shrugged. “Why, what’s cooking? You mess up again?”

Han walked around the corner and slid into the doorway which was beginning to get crowded. He looked from Luke to Deak with a widening grin. “And what are you two doing here, chit-chatting? Old friends, huh?”

“You could probably say that.” Luke remembered baking afternoons in Uncle Owen’s workshop where he and Deak had built and painted starship models together, and later, nights spent in an Anchorhead garage tuning their speeders, followed by wild races across the Jundland Wastes. He also remembered countless wisecracks and jokes made at his expense, and he turned back to Deak. “Can we go inside? It may not look that way, but we’re trying to be inconspicuous.”

“Oh.” Deak shot a wary grin at Han. “Who’s your friend, Skywalker?”

“Han Solo,” Han introduced himself. “Now shut your mouth and open that door.”

To Luke’s surprise, Deak complied without protest and let them into the small shop which was dusty and next to empty.

Luke stole a quick look at Han and felt his face grow hot when his sidelong glance was caught and countered with a lazy grin. He’d better keep his eyes focused elsewhere, Luke decided, or he might have a disturbingly physical reaction to Han’s mere presence.

“So,” Han said, addressing Deak who’d locked the door after them. “What were you doing here, huh? And don’t tell me you hang out in this area as a habit.”

“I, uh, no,” Deak said. “Your ship’s the Millennium Falcon, right? I’ve heard a couple hot things about that ship...”

“Yeah? I might even take you for a ride if you just answer my question.” Han smiled. “What were you doing here?”

Something cramped in Luke’s stomach as he watched that dazzling smile turn on while Deak — cocky, loud-mouthed Deak — fidgeted and hunched up his shoulders and smiled back, flustered. “I work for Bib,” he said, as if that explained anything.

“Bib Fortuna?” Luke pulled himself together with an effort. Life was simply reverting back to normal, no matter how he ached over it. “Jabba’s majordomo?”

“Yeah,” Deak returned, sparing him only a brief glance. “He’s running his own show now.”

“But he’s not the main man, no kingfish like Tal Perd, right?” Han chuckled. “Okay, so Bib sent you here to stick your nose into Perd’s business...”

“He heard that Perd’s about to strike it rich,” Deak answered. “He, uh, he didn’t actually _send_ me here. I figured through that myself.”

“Clever,” Han growled pleasantly. “Now do me a favor ‘n butt out. You’ve run into a whole lot more than you can handle. No offense to you personally.”

Deak’s tanned face reddened a little and his mouth opened for protest, but when Han patted his shoulder, all protest faded from his expression.

“Look here,” Han said. “You can do something for yourself and your boss. Tell Bib he’d better stay out of this one. Convince him, and he’s gonna be grateful in the long run — take my word for that. Me ‘n Luke’ve got everything under control.”

“Sure?” Deak glanced over at Luke and frowned. “I mean — what _is_ goin’ on here?”

“We’ll tell you later,” Han said firmly. “But if you breathe a word about us to _anyone_...” He pointed over his shoulder. “Your old friend Luke’s a Jedi knight now and he can throttle you over a mile’s distance, no problem.”

“You’re kiddin’!” Deak snorted and shot Han a conspiratorial grin. “But okay, I won’t tell, don’t worry. And if you guys need help, just gimme a shout. Got lots of contacts all over the city.”

“We’ll remember that,” Luke said.

Deak nodded at him. “Yeah. See ya, Luke.” He slipped out the door, whistling to himself.

“Numbnuts!” Han sent after him. “And he was one of your _friends_?”

“One of my favorite bullies.” Luke moved to the dust-streaked window and peered out. “Why’d you tell him that nonsense about me?”

“He didn’t believe that anyway.” Han leaned against the wall next to Luke. “ _Could_ you do it?” he asked, playful challenge brightening his eyes.

“I don’t know.” Luke aimed a speculative glance at him. “I’d have to practice across a very short distance first.”

Han laughed softly. “Right now that wouldn’t be very wise.”

“I guess not.” Luke gestured at the domed building down the street. “Nothing’s happened all day. You got any idea what they’re waiting for?”

It was, of course, the cue Han had expected for a while. “I think I do,” he said smugly. “They’re waiting for one of Bristin’s business partners to join up.”

“How do you know?”

“Talked to a couple guys around the ‘port. There’s another ship from the centerworlds comin’ in tomorrow. Bristin’s reserved docking space for them.” Han reached across and ran a hand up Luke’s arm. “We can go for a meal ‘n check up on Bristin later, what do you think?”

“Sounds tempting,” Luke muttered. “But what if that ship comes in early?”

“I _paid_ the guys to contact me the moment something happens,” Han said. “Trust me, we’ve got time.”

* * *

It was late when Luke closed the door of his room and flopped down on the bed. After a meal of fried silt-crabs they’d spent another two fruitless hours trying to stare holes through the thick white walls of Bristin’s residence without hope for action. Then followed the anguished ritual of decision-making that ended in front of Luke’s door.

 _I guess we both need a good night’s sleep, Han. To be ready for tomorrow_.

While Han couldn’t possibly question such perfectly sound reasoning, he never displayed the slightest twitch of frustration either. Luke began to feel like a quarry which, after successfully shaking the hunter somewhere along the way, felt completely at a loss.

He sighed and stretched out on his back, recalling the day. The floating hours of incredulous reminiscence. The unexpected encounter with Deak. The pang of absurd jealousy when Han directed some of his charm at Luke’s boyhood buddy.

Until now, Luke had always kept himself from wondering who Han spent his nights with when he went off on private business. He wasn’t naive enough to expect fidelity from Han. Why anyone should burden sensual pleasures with moral restrictions was beyond Han’s particular mind-set, and this very attitude made him the open-minded, generous man he was. It also made Luke feel awkward about his own, very different sentiments.

He ran his hand across the bedsheet and remembered how he’d clawed at it last night while passion took him sky-high to scatter pieces of him across the distance from here to the Dune Sea. The memory clogged in his body and strummed distant music across his nerves, intensifying as soon as Luke let his mind roam and engage in wanton fantasy. What would it be like to make love to Han, to be inside him, coax him into willing surrender—? A delicious shiver snaked down Luke’s back at the thought. Shaking himself free, he folded his hands over his stomach in resignation.

A Jedi could bridle such inopportune stirrings of the flesh. In fact, it was one of the first body-control techniques Luke had been forced to teach himself during the training period on Dagobah. Harder to handle were the volatile desires swarming around human closeness and companionship, the boundless tenderness he’d felt last night... which brought on different fantasies. Simple and straightforward things, and all the more precious. Honest to himself, Luke wanted Han to just lie here beside him, to chat about the day, touch casually and exchange stories about past times on Tatooine.

He could lie awake half the night and soliloquize. Or he could....

...Han was already in bed when Luke opened the unlocked door to his room. The white sheet scarcely covered his groin and set off the elegant sprawl of his long, tanned limbs.

“Come on in,” Han invited him without a touch of smugness. “The bed’s big enough for two. Just like yours.”

Reminding himself of the resolution to relax his attitude, Luke stripped naked and eased down on the bed without a word. A muscular arm slipped around his shoulders and tucked him into a comfortable position, his head pillowed on Han’s upper chest.

“Worried about tomorrow?” Han asked.

Luke indicated a shake of the head. “Must be Tatooine getting to me,” he said. “I keep remembering things I hadn’t thought of for years.” He grinned when he realized they were about to repeat last night’s conversation with reversed roles.

“Tell me about the guy we met today,” Han prompted. “Any other friends I never heard of?”

“Friends,” Luke repeated absently, losing himself to a wash of blurry images from the past. “No, I guess not. The only friend I ever had here was Biggs. The other guys... well, we just used to hang out at the garage in Anchorhead, talk big and race our speeders...”

“And you were the local speeder-race hero, huh?”

Luke chuckled. “No. That was Biggs. I was always the runt. Deak was our chief mechanic — he used to be taller than me ‘cause he’s a year older...”

“I bet he was the type of kid who’d pester the garage’s owner into giving him spare parts,” Han speculated. “Hell, I was like that. Far ahead of my age where engines were concerned, and backward in every other respect.”

“ _Backward_? You?”

Luke raised his head and studied Han with delighted disbelief until Han ruffled his hair and growled softly, “Stop looking at me that way, or I might forget about the good night’s sleep and all that crap.”

Warmth crawled into Luke’s face, and for once he didn’t mind it. “I became serious competition only after Biggs’d left,” he continued, resting his cheek against Han’s shoulder again. “Uncle Owen bought me the latest speeder model... probably tried to make up for not letting me apply to the Academy when Biggs went.”

“You missed him.”

“Yeah.” Luke’s fingers ran idle patterns through the curly hair on Han’s chest. “It’s... strange, but now I miss him more than I used to. Almost as much as I did after he’d been killed.”

“You never came back here before.”

“Must be the reason,” Luke agreed. “It’s as if Tatooine has become a place for ghosts. Everyone I really cared about is... gone.”

In afterthought, Luke frowned at the somber note that had crept into this conversation, but Han hugged him a little harder and said, “Everybody’s got their ghosts. I know the feeling, kid.”

Luke closed his eyes. He could hear Han’s heartbeat and the wind outside that always picked up overnight to pile sand-drifts against every wall. It occurred to him that before last night, he’d never slept in anyone’s arms on Tatooine.

Sometime between that thought and the following morning, he fell asleep.

 

Shortly after dawn, Luke woke to the sensation of Han breathing against the nape of his neck, the warm weight of a muscular arm wrapped around his waist while a rigid cock pressed heavily against his backside.

“’Morning...” Han placed a moist kiss under his ear.

Luke swallowed and, blinking his eyes several times, tried to clear the cobwebs of sleep from his mind. “You’ve got a hyperactive sex drive,” he murmured, but the next thing that registered was the pleasurable tightness in his groin.

“Oh, and you don’t?” Han asked, quick to spot his advantage. His mouth slid down Luke’s throat, fastening at the junction of shoulder and neck. His big palm moved in circles across Luke’s stomach, slowly traveling down, while his hips rocked forward.

Luke pressed back into him. He closed his eyes again and abandoned himself to the mounting pleasure, his back molded against Han’s chest and hips. He could feel the strong heartbeat against his spine and wished that from now on he could wake up to this every morning — or at least as often as possible.

Floating on pure sensation and no longer surprised by the staggering intensity, Luke breathed deeply, as if to ease the pressure inside him. Beyond the steady waves of pleasure, his feelings built towards the long-familiar, agonized confusion and a much stronger desire, urging him to turn, tell Han...

...and with the very first word, the process of losing him would set in. Luke bit down on his lip when Han’s rhythm tightened and sensations sharp as arrows seemed to drive into his stomach. He’d keep it to himself, all the pointless needing and wanting, accept reality as given. Diffuse anguish joined the pleasure, and he listened to his own hard breaths, going out into impenetrable silence.

Until Han’s comlink whistled insistently.

“Damn!” Han growled. “That’s not fair!”

But he scrambled off the bed nonetheless to answer the intrusive call.

His clipped answers made it obvious to Luke that one of Han’s spaceport contacts had called in to report an impending arrival. His mind switched to a lower-level alert with some sluggishness, and he sat up.

Deactivating the comlink, Han returned to the bed to drop a kiss on Luke’s bare shoulder and look him over. “I guess we both need a cold shower before we leave,” he said wryly.

“I thought your shower’s not working,” Luke muttered.

Han returned a rakish grin. “I lied.”

* * *

Several hours out in Tatooine’s scorching heat and the omnipresent sticky dust had etched an expression of disgruntled frustration on Han’s face.

“I think I remember why I never wanted to come back here,” he said, wiping his sweaty forehead. “How’d you survive twenty years?”

Luke shrugged. “Same as every other farmer. You live with it.” He peered through the corroded grid of a ventilation outlet in which they were hiding. “I think somebody’s coming...”

“Can’t hear anything,” Han murmured after listening into the silence for a few seconds. “Though they must be overdue by now. Bristin’s party’s been waiting for at least an hour.”

From Mos Eisley’s spaceport, they’d tracked the new arrivals to Bristin’s residence and, after a short wait, out into a near-deserted industrial area on the eastern fringes of the city. The associate Bristin had expected appeared to be another wealthy entrepreneur, although neither Han nor Luke recognized the man. His ship was a streamlined yacht and carried an entourage of ten fierce-looking Denghil bodyguards as well as two females swathed in expensive silks from head to toe. While the man’s wives or concubines stayed behind, the rest of the group had set out again almost instantly.

Han had frowned when he saw the Denghil — a humanoid race of powerful build and highly developed sensory organs, sleek-skinned with braided manes of silver-grey hair — and his scowl had turned a shade deeper when the locale for the rendezvous became apparent. Bristin, his associate and their retinue filed into an abandoned warehouse to meet with Tal Perd. The large structure was surrounded by other buildings: a former vaporator manufactory, several equally abandoned workshops and a generator station, connected by a webwork of narrow alleys which made the area difficult to survey.

“Hear that?” Luke breathed.

Han cocked his head and nodded briefly as the distant engine’s whine swelled, thrumming in the hot air.

A minute later, they could see a large landglider join the row of already parked vehicles. Its canopy bubble slid back and the floating craft rocked from side to side when a pair of Rodians armed with blaster rifles jumped out. They swung their guns in every direction as if they expected an immediate assault, while a second vehicle pulled up, followed by a third.

When Tal Perd finally strode towards the warehouse, he was surrounded by an escort of eight, droids and humanoids effectively shielding him from view. Luke caught only a glimpse of the short, wiry man whose strange skin-coloring hinted a mésalliance somewhere down the family line.

“That’s an _army_ in there!” Han muttered after they had disappeared from view. “We’d better plan this carefully.”

“All we have to do is sabotage the meeting,” Luke said.

“And come away alive,” Han finished sourly. “Don’t you ever wonder why the Alliance picks _us_ for jobs like these? Come on, we’re heroes of the Rebellion! They should treat us nice, put us up on pedestals—”

“As I recall it, you explicitly refused every available pedestal,” Luke stopped him.

“Might change my mind about that yet.” Han shrugged. “Okay, any suggestions?”

“Same as two days ago: the back door.” Luke crept closer to the grid. Nothing moved outside now.

“We won’t get close enough to do any serious damage,” Han argued. “The two of us against — how many? Twenty? No chance to just sneak up on them.”

Luke smiled tightly. “Don’t be so sure. I plan to listen for a while before we start the fireworks.”

“Fireworks!” Han echoed with a grunt. “That’s all they’re gonna be!” He reached down to pat the bag by his side which held a set of ten thermal detonators. “Wish they’d let us take some of the heavier hardware.”

Luke shot him a brief glance over his shoulder, grudgingly amused. “One thing’s for sure, _you’ll_ be bored sick once the war is over.”

“Not likely that I’ll live to see the end of it.”

“Maybe not,” Luke conceded softly. “Anyway — we don’t have to bring the whole building down on top of them. We don’t have to kill anybody, just give them a warning.”

“Assuming they’re clever enough to recognize a warning when it hits them over the head.”

“If Perd doesn’t, Bristin will,” Luke returned.

The thermal detonators, he calculated, should be quite enough to disrupt the secret meeting and sabotage Bristin’s association with Tal Perd. A man like Bristin would expect his business partners to have every operation firmly under control at all times. If someone could launch a successful attack on Perd’s own terrain, right under the crime lord’s nose, Bristin’s esteem of the man would decline rapidly.

 _If_ they could pull it off....

“Ready?” Han asked.

Luke felt for his lightsaber and nodded.

They crept down one of the alleys and circled the decaying manufactory to keep out of sight as long as possible. Luke pressed his back flat against the wall to peer around the next corner while simultaneously reaching into the Force. Weaving tendrils of energy seemed to tease his straining senses before the impression cleared. Luke felt a high tension level among the two parties, but no immediate alarm. He gestured for Han to follow and slipped into the shaded passage which ran towards the rear part of the warehouse, squinting as his eyes adjusted to the sudden gloom. In the Force, distances dwindled and became insignificant. Although his heightened awareness enabled Luke to monitor other life-forms, he could not locate them precisely within the coordinates of material time and space, nor could he possibly identify droids — and there had been several in Perd’s entourage.

They’d barely entered the passage when a coldness touched Luke’s spine and formed a small shiver. He spun.

“Han — get back!”

The instant Han flattened himself against the nearest wall, melting into pale shadows, a blaster shot traversed the passage. Luke dived for a broken basement window and felt glass shatter as he somersaulted through to land shakily on his feet. Less than two meters across, he could see Han cock and aim his blaster.

“Don’t!” he hissed. “You’ve got no cover over there. Don’t make an easy target out of yourself!”

Not the slightest flicker on Han’s face showed that he’d heard, but he didn’t fire his blaster either. Luke drew in a deep breath and hauled himself up to crouch inside the window. His mental focus tightened and revealed a shadowy motion on the roof of the manufactory. Guided by pure reflex, Luke leaped back out into the alley and fired, standing clear.

Atop the roof, a tall droid staggered, a wreath of blue sparks and white flames encircling his torso. Instead of collapsing, he simply froze as one control circuit after the next burned out.

“Han!” Luke gestured at the window. “Get behind me! There’s more of them.”

“I don’t see anybody,” Han muttered after another brief glance down the passage. “Got everything under control from here.”

Exasperation flooded Luke with cold adrenaline. “It’s your choice!” he hissed. “Save your pride or your ass!”

Han shot him a tight grin. “You got a thing for my ass, huh? I’m flattered.”

Caught between nervous laughter and an urge to yell at Han, Luke took a step forward. “Yeah, I want your ass,” he said tightly, “but there won’t be much left if you don’t get behind me _right now_!”

Han’s grin grew a little insecure, but he complied without further ado.

As he dashed across the passage, a badly aimed blaster shot tracked him and whipped up a small cloud of gravel and dust. Luke had ignited his lightsaber the same instant. “Set your blaster on stun,” he snapped over his shoulder.

Their new opponent was a swarthy man whose face paled in surprise when Luke walked straight into his line of fire and caught each blaster bolt with an incandescent blade. Behind him, Han took aim and hit the man squarely in the chest. He slumped against a brick wall without a sound.

Luke bent over him and unhooked the comlink from his belt. “Go ahead, Han,” he said, handing the device over. “You’re good at this type of thing. Tell them everything’s fine.”

Han gave him a withering glare. As soon as he activated the comlink, a distorted voice buzzed from the small speaker.

“What’s happening down there?”

“We, uh, had a small problem here,” Han improvised. “The whole place’s full of rats, you know, and everyone’s a bit jumpy right now — but there’s, ah, nothing to worry about. Really.”

He grimaced. A moment of silence was followed by a sudden bark of laughter. “Don’t get jittery, Hemp,” the man on the other end of the line advised. “And don’t shoot at anything unless it walks on two legs. Stay cool, man, all right?”

“Sure,” Han said. “No more shooting. Everything’s cool. See ya later.”

Dropping the comlink into Hemp’s lap, Han turned back to Luke. “Stop smirkin’!” he grumbled. “Let’s get on with it, I wanna be out of here before they do smell a rat, and a real one.”

“I’m going in,” Luke said. “This will work much better if we split up.”

Han’s brows drew together in a tight frown. “Yeah, it’s gonna make a bigger impression if we blow the detonators in two places — still...”

“I’ll be all right, Han.” Luke gestured at the broken basement window a few meters behind them. “I think you should be able to get inside through the basement, they’re interconnected, and if we’re lucky, Bristin’s people don’t realize that.”

“And where will you be going?” Han asked suspiciously.

“The back door. And before you ask — they won’t notice me.”

Han opened their ammunitions bag, muttering resentfully about Jedi mumbo-jumbo and crazy ideas while he peeled the detonators out of their case. “Watch yourself, okay?” His hand wrapped around Luke’s forearm and squeezed hard.

“You, too.” A sudden flush of warmth mixed with apprehension, and Luke forced both from his mind. “Page me when everything’s set. I’ll take the remote so we can trigger both detonations at once.”

“Right.” Han flung a grin over his shoulder as he walked down the alley. “See you back at the ranch.”

 

Luke crouched in the dark and concentrated on the murmur of voices, filtering from the room directly below. Getting inside the warehouse had been easy. The two Denghil who guarded the back entrance had stared straight through him as he slipped past, fully shielded by the Force. He’d located the room where Bristin and Perd still engaged in negotiations and had attached the detonators to a post supporting the decayed ceiling. The explosion would bring part of it down, close enough to the conspirators to serve as a serious warning.

While he waited for Han’s signal, Luke had crept up the stairs to listen in on the talks. Through the gaping holes in the loft’s decomposing floorboards, he could even see one of the Denghil who nervously ran his fingers across a silvery braid. And he could hear a confident, drawling voice which had to be Perd’s.

“...and in turn we’ll provide security and additional escorts for your deliveries,” the man was just saying, when a soft noise from the shadows made Luke wheel in alarm. He’d focused so exclusively on the gathering below that a stranger’s presence on this level of the warehouse caught him by surprise.

Not a stranger at all, Luke realized a split second later. From the shadows on the loft’s far side shone a gleam of pale hair.

“Deak?” Luke whispered incredulously, moving quietly towards the other man.

“That’s right.” His boyhood friend grinned at him. “But what’re _you_ doing here?”

“How’d you get inside, past the guards?” Luke asked, ignoring the question.

“Had a job in the manufactory some time ago,” Deak returned, off-handedly. “I know my way around here.”

Luke drew him back to the wall and out of earshot, he hoped. “Listen to me, Deak,” he said in urgent whispers. “You have to get out of here at once! This isn’t safe for you!”

“Oh no? Anywhere you go, Skywalker, I’ve been before,” Deak scoffed. “You’re the one who used to make a blunder of everything, remember?”

“Some things change,” Luke said tightly. “I’ll be leaving here in another minute, and you’ll come with me, got that?”

“Since when do I take orders from you?” Deak shook his head. “No way. And what’re you up to anyway?”

From the corner of his eye, Luke saw a light flash on his comlink: Han’s signal. He released a long breath, fighting a stir of anger before he answered. “Okay, here’s what’s going to happen. Han and I have placed detonators inside this building to give the party downstairs a warning. We can’t let them band together against the Alliance.” He tapped the remote which he’d hooked to his belt. “As soon as we’re out of here, I’ll trigger the explosion. Nobody needs to get hurt, but this isn’t the place to hang out either.”

Arguing with Deak, Luke realized he was lapsing back into hopelessly outdated habits, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to use an immediate mental command on him — not as long as simple persuasion might still do the trick.

Despite the dimness, Luke could see Deak’s face lose color.

“What?” he breathed. “You’re batty, Skywalker! Can’t do that!” Deak reached out to clutch at the front of Luke’s tunic. “I _know_ what they’re up to down there, figured through that myself — you got any idea what a difference a deal like that’s gonna make?”

“A fair idea,” Luke said coolly, snapping Deak’s hand off him with a hard gesture.

“No, you don’t!” Deak hissed. “It means we’re back in business, things’re finally gonna improve on this miserable dustball! Bib’s gonna get his share—”

“And so will you?” Luke shook his head. “Don’t be a fool. It’s people like Bristin and Perd who’ll profit from this.”

Pale and wide-eyed, Deak stared at him for another moment, giving Luke hope that he was still amenable to rational arguments — until the other man abruptly swung a fist at his jaw.

Luke ducked the blow easily. Even without the Force, years of combat training gave him an advantage over Deak, but the fight itself was disastrous enough. Thrown off balance, Deak crashed into the wall with a resounding thud.

“Damn you!” he gasped.

Luke grabbed his arm. “We gotta get out of here! Now!”

Too late. A cold tingle erupted in his stomach, coinciding with the sound of boots hammering up the stairs. Luke snatched his sidearm from its holster and turned towards the sound, but Deak, recovering, lunged for him again.

The action around Luke seemed to move at quarter-speed, and from one second to the next the background was nothing but haze. Several tall silhouettes, raised guns — and a hand clawing at his belt. Before Luke could react, Deak had ripped the remote from its hook, while at the same time, a blaster shot lanced towards them. The world dissolved into dark, nasty blurs.

Deak fell with a scream, but the next shot was echoed by a crunching, rumbling noise that froze Luke’s blood as he threw himself to the side. Burying the remote under him, Deak had triggered the detonation.

The ground buckled under Luke’s boots, he slipped, dropping the blaster, and crashed through the floorboards. Before he could tuck his legs under his chin to soften the fall, his backbone impacted with a hard floor. Agonizing brilliance exploded into Luke’s vision, then ripped everything away into total blackness.

 

It felt as if he’d been out only for a few moments, but the change in his surroundings suggested a somewhat longer lapse of time. There were shouts all around him, fast footfalls and a buzz from several comlinks. Flat on his back in the middle of debris and swirling dust clouds, Luke fought the giddiness and a dull ache in his spine. Splintered floorboards and fallen chunks of duracrete covered the lower part of his body. When he turned his head, he saw Deak sprawled on the floor a few paces away from him. Wide open eyes stared up into nothingness, and no breath heaved the blaster-burned chest. Blood and dust covered Deak’s face and throat. Luke swallowed hard.

His first impulse was to get up at once, but he checked it on second thought. Perhaps Perd’s men had taken him for dead without sparing a closer look; they’d be searching the building for intruders now, giving him a chance to slip away unnoticed.

Careful not to cause any sound that would draw their attention, Luke extended a hand towards his blaster and pulled it free of the debris. Flexing the muscles in his arms and legs, he was preparing his next move when an eruption of noise once again froze him to stillness.

Shots were being fired somewhere close, someone gave an angry shout, and silhouettes seemed to dance amidst the floating dust. And then Han ran up to the spot where the ceiling had crashed down.

He stopped dead several paces away, his face drained of color as he stared across at Deak’s body. His lips moved soundlessly, wild emotions raged in his dark eyes. It took only a second, and before Luke could call to him, Han wheeled, raising his blaster.

A green-skinned Rodian and one of Bristin’s muscular bodyguards had followed him, and Han barely dodged their shots before launching his own attack.

“You bastards!” Han yelled, releasing a salvo of furious blasts. “Go to hell, you fuckers!”

There was an unfamiliar note of despair in his voice, and it released a chill wash of adrenaline into Luke’s blood.

Han’s shots took out the bodyguard, and when the Rodian dived behind a steel post to take cover, Han flung himself across the distance, oblivious to the furious shots streaking towards him.

Luke had pulled his legs free and stumbled to his feet, but by then Han was on top of the Rodian and held his blaster to the hairless head. “That’s for Luke, you slime!” he snarled.

The words struck Luke cold with sudden, heart-pounding understanding, but his shout coincided with the discharge of Han’s blaster.

“Han!” Luke yelled again as he limped towards his friend.

Pale face smeared with dirt, Han came to his feet. “Luke!” he rasped out in a voice very close to cracking. “Luke — you’re — I thought you were dead, goddamnit!”

Before Luke could answer, he found himself wrapped in an abrupt embrace. The hands that squeezed his shoulders trembled noticeably.

“They got Deak,” Luke said when Han released him. “He triggered the remote by accident, and I fell through the ceiling with him when it came down. But let’s get outa here, I’ll tell you the rest later.”

“We’d better,” Han agreed, his voice still rough and shaken. “I, ah, suppose the basement’s still the safest route. Are you okay? Nothing broken?”

“I’m fine,” Luke assured him.

They heard booted footfalls somewhere above when they hurried down the worn-out steps that plunged into the dimness of the warehouse’s basement.

“Perd and Bristin must’ve bugged out at once when the detonators went off,” Han said in a lowered voice as he led the way in the dark. “Like real heroes. Left some of their goons behind to do the dirty work.”

No one followed them as they made their way through several adjoining basements, but every step sent flashes of pain pulsing up Luke’s back. His breaths shortened as he struggled for control.

They surfaced at a safe distance from the warehouse, exiting to street level through another broken window. Hot wind touched their sweat-damp faces, but the area was as tranquil as it had been on their arrival.

“So this is it...” Luke drew a deep, ragged breath and wiped his sleeve over his face. His hair was clotted with dust and surely just as grey as his clothes and skin. “Let’s get back to our speeder.”

“Hey...” Han caught him by the shoulders. “Take it easy. You look white as a sheet!”

Luke grimaced. “Got a spectacularly bruised back, I suppose, but that’s all.”

“Sure?” When Han pursed his lips, a glint of playful mockery had returned to his eyes. “Okay, I’ll examine _that_ later,” he added in a wry tone. “When we’ve finished our business here.”

 

Neither of them spoke during the ride back.

Settling beside Han in their speeder, Luke succumbed to a flood of ambiguous feelings which charged him the moment he relaxed. Deak’s bloodied face rose from the tangle inside his mind, mirrored by the look of white terror in Han’s eyes when he’d stared at the young man’s body and saw only the resemblance between him and Luke.

A small aftershock assailed Luke when he recalled Han’s fury and his subsequent, reckless attack. Totally careless of the risk he was taking, Han had thrown himself into the fray. Luke stole a sidelong glance at his companion and thought that Han still looked drained and frayed around the edges. Tense lines hovered at the corners of his mouth, and Luke inched a little closer, adding pressure where their thighs were rubbing together in the tightness of the speeder’s cockpit. Han’s reactions had welled from the deep, unspoken bond between them.

Luke recalled countless times of fighting his own battles against the fear for Han’s life, and with each memory, small shivers came alive in the pit of his belly. There had been too many moments when all he could do was wait, clenching inside until it hurt, anticipating the worst which seemed less than a finger’s breadth away. And today he’d seen the same, waxing shadow of fear in Han’s eyes.

Neither of them could face the possibility of losing the other, the trusted strength, the wordless understanding, the second pair of eyes watching for unexpected dangers. Whatever else happened, they’d both committed their trust for life, years ago, without thought or doubt. And what more could he ask for, what greater, more promising depth was there, what pledge to offer?

Luke felt a strange lightness gather in his chest as if he’d breathed helium instead of air. The self-made knot of anxieties, reservations, and half-admitted cravings began to unravel inside him and fell away from the simple essence of feeling. He loved Han and couldn’t help it — nor did he want to anymore.

Amazing, Luke thought, how he’d managed to hide this blatant truth from himself for so long, never quite acknowledging the obvious.

When he looked up, Han’s gaze had strayed from the deserted street, and Luke caught a nervous intensity in those dark eyes. His pulse quickened, his senses stirred with suggestions for their time alone together. He turned his head to hide a smile at the small pang of desire that was now welcome, no longer a test of his resolve but something he acknowledged with undivided acceptance.

Han throttled the speeder’s engines within sight of the inn where they’d rented rooms. “All right,” he said tersely. “Do me a favor and get inside, you need a shower and some rest. No arguing. I’ll be back soon, okay?”

“Back from where?” Luke asked.

“Just wanna check up on Bristin. If he’s half as clever as his bank accounts suggest, he’ll back out of this deal fast.”

“Han—”

“Hey, don’t worry!” A forced grin stretched Han’s mouth. “I won’t go anywhere near the guy. We’ve done our job, and I’m not gonna miss a single hour of the vacation we’ve got left, believe me.”

* * *

Tatooine’s twin suns had lowered in the sky, their fierce brilliance darkening to sultry gold and pale violet when Luke rose and dressed again. Sinking into his bed’s soft mattress after the shower, he’d dozed off immediately. Soft, rustling sounds from the room next door assured him that Han had returned in the meantime.

Luke wandered over to the window to watch the sunset and the familiar spectacle of raging colors over the desert. How many times had he watched the sky with a vast, aimless longing, wishing time would speed up and haul him towards a future full of adventures? For every adolescent boy raised out here, the future just couldn’t come fast enough. It had been the same for Biggs who’d pounced on his first chance to join the Rebellion and died, mere weeks later, in a white blaze over the Death Star — and for Deak who’d never once set foot on a starship.

All Luke had to do was close his eyes and he could see the vivid image of his boyhood companion. A proud, toothy grin spreading all over a face smeared with engine oil, a mop of blond hair ruffled by desert breezes. Momentary pain took Luke’s breath as he remembered Biggs and Deak and a peal of wild laughter over the high whine of tuned engines. Hotshots of the galaxy, wannabe heroes preparing for the call to glory...

An insistent rapping of knuckles against the door let the remembered images waver and fade. “It’s open,” Luke answered after a moment’s delay.

“Are we awake and rested?” Han closed the door behind himself. “How’s your back?”

“Okay.” Without turning from the window, Luke asked, “Did you find out anything at the spaceport?”

“Like I expected. Bristin couldn’t get to the ‘port fast enough. He and his buddy were bound for hyperspace an hour after our little show.”

Luke nodded. “Mission accomplished?”

“No stuff for glamorous tales, but...” Han trailed off on a quizzical note.

Luke heard the slowly approaching steps and anticipated the warmth of Han’s hand on his shoulder before it settled there, rubbing lightly.

“Talk about it,” Han prompted.

“We’ll have to get in touch with someone — the local security, I suppose,” Luke said as soberly as he could. “We can’t just leave Deak lying there. And I’ve no idea if his family still lives in Anchorhead.”

“Luke,” Han said gruffly. “It’s not your fault. I told him, I warned him—”

“And so did I.” Luke pulled up his shoulders. “Still... if I’d realized — I could have forced him out of the building. I didn’t understand what all of this meant to him. Big business. A chance—”

“To become Bib Fortuna’s right-hand man? Someone who — give ‘n take a few years — would shoot first, then ask for our names? He walked right into it, Luke.”

“He caught the blast meant for me.”

A step behind him, Han stiffened just a little. “And you know what?” he growled. “I’m damned glad he did. Sorry, kid, but that’s how it is.”

His hand slipped off Luke’s shoulder, and a second later Han threw himself into the wicker-chair which creaked softly, allowing the silence to last as long as Luke needed to withdraw his mind from the possessive grasp of recollection. When he turned, Han was studying him, and Luke lost himself utterly to those beautiful dark eyes.

“You know,” Han said slowly, “it’s the same with most of the kids I grew up with. Some of them were killed when the Empire took Corellia, some got drafted into the Imperial army. Who knows, I might even have blasted one or two when we were fighting with the Rebels. Everybody makes their own choices.”

Old companions lost, new friends gained, the same old story. But as Luke returned Han’s gaze he could see a touch of loneliness at the back of those dark hazel eyes. A hint of the years Han had spent deliberately apart from company, save Chewbacca’s.

“Han,” he said. “Thanks.”

A sparkle of warmth lit Han’s eyes when he gave a brief nod but stayed silent as if he anticipated in Luke’s stillness a revelation to come.

He needed to tell Han, Luke knew. Share the feeling and the sense of liberation, get rid of all the absurd caution that had sometimes come between them and make sure that Han understood.

Han shook his head. “What’s up? Why d’you look at me that way?”

Luke felt the jitters set in at the bottom of his chest, encroaching on his breath, and smiled — shakily, he supposed. “How does it look?” he asked softly.

“Like I’ve got something coming,” Han returned uneasily. “Something big.”

“You do. I’m in love with you.”

Han turned his head aside and rubbed at his chin almost nervously. “You weren’t supposed to fall in love,” he finally said.

Even though Luke had expected an answer like that, his mouth went a little dry. “Maybe not.” He shrugged helplessly.

Han shot him a quick, surreptitious glance from under his lashes. “ _Maybe_? Come on, I’ve heard enough about Jedi customs to realize that a guy like me falls something short of the ideal consort. _If_ you’re supposed to consort with anyone at all...”

Luke shook his head, bewildered as Han’s intimations derailed his train of logic. “What’re you talking about?”

“You heard me.” Han rose to pace across the room. “A Jedi’s not supposed—”

“Not supposed to fall in love?” Luke finished incredulously.

Annoyance had tightened Han’s face when he turned back. “Well, what else was all this about? All this stalling and moving back two paces after each step forward.”

“About me. You. About accepting what we can’t have,” Luke said tentatively. “It’s got nothing to do with being a Jedi, Han. And everything with us.”

“What d’you mean, _the things we can’t have_?” Han asked, confusion sweeping across his face before it disappeared under a wary expression.

“Never mind that.” Luke crossed the distance and touched his arm. “I just took a while accepting how I feel, that’s all. Now let’s go to bed.”

Han stared at him. “No, no, wait a minute,” he said. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate the offer, but — let me get this straight first. You—?”

“Yeah.” Luke felt faintly dizzy, startled by his own temerity as much as Han’s baffled reaction. Never in all this time had he expected it to be so easy, just to admit he’d fallen in love and stop looking for excuses.

“You never said anything. Not even something as simple as _take me to bed_!”

“Maybe it was never that simple. And I thought you’d tire of me pretty soon. Or worse, that you’d get scared and back off... if I told you that I want you all for myself.”

“Scared? Me?”

“Every time somebody asks about Leia, you tell them she mentioned the word _marriage_ once too often.”

Han snorted and looked away. “You know that was never the whole story. And you’re not gonna ask me to marry you, are you?”

“No,” Luke said, lightheaded and strangely amused. “At least not before I have a better idea of what I’m getting.”

“I’m not sure I wanna know what _that_ means,” Han muttered.

“Forget it.” Luke glided his fingertips up Han’s chest until they dipped under the loose shirt and found warm skin. “This is how I feel about you, and I want you the way you are. No obligations.”

“You love me, but you won’t hold me to it?” Han cleared his throat. “What if I... what if I wouldn’t mind a promise or two?”

Luke’s heart suddenly thundered in his throat. “Like what?” he managed after a moment.

“Like I’ll stay with you as long as you want me.” Han’s arms moved around him, trapped Luke close to his chest, and the warmth of his breath brushed Luke’s upturned face. “Hell knows I’ve wanted you long enough — right from the start — and I suppose if it’s lasted this long, it’s not gonna stop anytime soon.”

“Right from the start? Come on...” Luke shook his head but reached up to wrap both hands around Han’s neck and bring him closer. Until the sensuous mouth hovered within millimeters of his own.

“So what, if there’s no such thing as love at first sight?” Han murmured, a smile in his low-lidded eyes. “There’s magic in second glances, kid. Looks like it worked for us, huh?”

Han gave him no chance to reply. Engulfed in a passionate kiss, Luke felt an instant, deep thrill shoot weakness through him, his stomach did a little flip, and his thoughts began to spin and spiral away.

“All right,” Han said with satisfaction when at last he allowed Luke a lungful of air. “ _Now_ we can go to bed.”

 

Tangling on the worn-through mattress, they peeled each other’s clothes off with sudden, insensible haste, as if they’d been given one last chance, on condition they seized it fast. But in truth, Luke reflected woozily, this was a first, a new beginning, no matter how familiar he’d become with every plane and ridge of Han’s body, with the magic those supple hands worked on him, challenging every nerve to surrender its pleasure potential.

He was breathing rapidly by the time Han had maneuvered him on top. He pressed his face into the curve of Han’s throat and focused on the wanton journey Han’s fingers made down his spine. A phalanx of shivers traveled in their wake.

“How’s the back?” Han asked again, in a velvety growl. “Looks mottled like a Rybet’s skin on a sunny day.”

“Thanks for the compliment,” Luke muttered, while he wondered how to convince Han that he was entirely incapable of experiencing anything but the vast pleasure that seemed to cocoon them. Lean thighs clasped around his hips, a taut erection stabbed his belly, right where his own excitement knotted and tightened like a fist. They’d been in bed for a scant five minutes, and Luke felt ready to explode — now _that_ would probably persuade Han, he thought with a private grin.

“I feel wonderful,” he assured Han. “And even if I’d broken my back this afternoon, I probably wouldn’t notice now, believe me.”

Han looked at him from dark and hazy eyes, gruff warning in his tone when he said, “Don’t get—”

“Cocky?” Luke finished for him with a breathless laugh. “Sorry, but I intend to. You’ll see...”

He probed the moist warmth of Han’s mouth with his tongue and pressed his hips into Han’s, settling on him with a suggestive rhythm, keeping it slow and controlled. Little more than a minute went by before Han gasped and wriggled impatiently. Delight seduced Luke’s senses. Too close to bursting with a wild joy which had swept aside every consideration, so close to Han that he could think of nothing but to share it all with him. Luke slipped from the possessive grip and playfully nibbled at Han’s chin before he wriggled lower.

When he tongued a dark nipple Han moaned, and his hips moved eagerly when Luke’s fingertips feathered across the full erection. The pleasure of feeling Han squirm tingled through him like a shimmer in every nerve ending, almost as heady as the friction between their bodies. Han’s breath was rasping by the time he dug his fingers into Luke’s shoulders to take control.

Luke lifted his head from the heaving chest and gently removed the hands. “My turn.”

He licked and kissed a tender path down the tightly muscled belly while his hand slipped between Han’s legs.

“Luke,” Han muttered somewhere above him and underlined the implicit plea with a rocking motion of the hips that brought his hard cock rubbing against Luke’s cheek.

With closed eyes, he put his mouth to work, drawing his tongue around in slow, incessant circles that brought muffled gasps from Han. Encouraged, Luke slid his fingers between Han’s thighs, fondling the warm heaviness of his balls, then teasing his tight entrance. He sucked a little harder on the rigid flesh that filled his mouth. Hips surged towards him in the same accelerating rhythm. Han’s fingers tangled in his hair, coaxing and imploring, and Luke was about to forget everything except the pleasure he was giving, because Han’s responses seethed through him with the intensity of physical touch.

He wriggled his finger until it slipped inside. In reflex, Han thrust up with a breathless moan but stopped himself short. His hands firmed on Luke’s shoulders and restrained him until he looked up.

“Get up here, kid,” Han muttered. “C’mon.”

Luke complied and bit his lip at the tight quivers in his belly starting up the moment their bodies locked together again, full length. They moved into a powerful, riding rhythm. Han clasped him with both arms and allowed no margin for escape.

“Your turn, you said.”

The sound of that husky voice, the hot challenge in Han’s eyes made Luke’s breath go faster. “If that means what I think it does—”

“What else?” A small grin of self-mockery formed on Han’s mouth. “And — yeah, I’ve done this before. Been a while though. Actually... a long while.”

“Why?” Luke asked, before he could think about it.

Han’s eyes seemed to darken as if the question actually embarrassed him. “You know me,” he grumbled. “And it’s not — not what leaps to anyone’s mind when they look at me, I guess. Makes a difference that you want me this way.”

Hidden emotions flickered in his eyes, and Luke kissed him passionately. “Yeah, I want you,” he finally said, “but it doesn’t matter...”

“Well, it matters to me.” The small signs of tension had disappeared from Han’s face when he smiled again. “So, show me what I’ve missed all these years.”

Luke answered with a breathless nod, the thought of making love to Han sizzling in his blood. Tense arousal mixed with a distinct dose of nervousness. He leaned over to kiss Han’s chest, nuzzle the sensitive skin at the bottom of his throat as he slid to the side, fitting himself against the taller body. Han had never felt entirely comfortable with relinquishing control — in bed and elsewhere.

 _Trust me_ , Luke’s hands and lips articulated as he concentrated fully on his lover’s pleasure.

A callused hand caressed his face with sudden tenderness. “Come on now,” Han murmured. “We’re both more than ready.”

But his nerves showed as they fumbled their way through the necessary preparations, and Luke caught a shadow of doubt in Han’s eyes when he leaned down to kiss his lips.

“I’ll be careful,” he whispered, his voice rough with desire. He moved across Han and positioned himself, the lean, strong legs hooked over his arms.

“Don’t worry.” Han’s eyes were clear and steady, offering wordless encouragement.

Luke pressed inward, instantly overrun by a thrill so deep it chased trickles of burning ice down his spine.

Han gasped at the slow intrusion. “Hell — I’d almost forgotten... ah, Luke—?”

“What?” Luke clenched his teeth for control.

“Just get on with it!”

A broken moan exploded from him as Luke pushed harder, sank in deeper. A storm of sensations battered his mind full force as tight heat gripped him and sheathed him. All he could do to stop himself from coming at once was squeeze his eyes shut and stay motionless. He remembered every detail of taking Han into his body, the hot, hard filling, and now — now it was perfection.

He felt the cadence of Han’s breath against him and around him and reached down for the wilted erection. Stroking, fondling until Han’s pulse came fast and drummed in synchronicity with his own. When Han whispered to him in a raspy voice, Luke began to work his hips forward and back.

And he knew nothing except loving Han, wanting him, immersed in this scalding, explosive desire. Luke drove himself home and heard a strange music in the sounds of pleasure escaping them both. Breathing hard, he looked at Han and knew at once that nothing could make him close his eyes again.

A fine sheen of sweat covered Han’s throat and face, dark lashes fluttered against his cheeks, parted lips released a deep groan. The sight struck a secret chord inside Luke’s chest, and it trembled through him towards a pitch of exultant delight. He succumbed to the hot, claiming feeling, hips rocking to the wild drumbeat of his heart. A light flush shaded Han’s tanned face, and the powerful body arched up, each thrust fetching a ragged moan.

Impossible to stop now, or to slow down. His strokes had become near-frantic, and Luke felt a small sting of regret that it would be over so soon — this mind-reeling blend of triumph and surrender all rolled into one. To have Han in his power and to give himself at the same time, pulse racing towards completion... He held his breath when Han looked at him, his gaze dark and liquid, hands clutching Luke’s hips while the deeper thrusts took them both to a hard edge of excruciating pleasure.

Luke could almost see the long shiver that raked Han, and its echoes seemed to pass through him like a brilliant beam of sunlight, humming faintly in every nerve. With a hoarse cry, Han pushed up, and Luke impaled himself one last time.

Reality collapsed around him, into him with an explosion of love and lust and sparkles of overbright pleasure which rained through him head to foot until he slumped, boneless and exhausted, to be caught in the haven of a warm embrace.

Han was still breathing fast when Luke finally raised his head to kiss the strong chin.

“Oh gods, I love you,” he moaned. “And I love doing this.”

“I could tell.” Han tousled his hair. “Y’know, I... suppose I could get used to it myself.”

Luke sighed. “I know what you mean.”

“Yeah?” Han’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Before we go any further — know one thing, kid: you look at some other guy, and you’re in trouble. Big trouble.”

“Who says I—”

“You heard me,” Han growled, glancing aside.

A very slight flush crawled across his cheeks again, and it was then Luke realized that Han had just lost a battle against his own feelings — or perhaps he’d allowed himself to lose this fight, accepting that something finally, irrevocably claimed him.

Something they both shared.

“I don’t want anybody else,” Luke said softly.

Han nodded, once. “Good,” he said. “That’s done then. I hereby declare us married. And now you’re stuck with me.”

Luke laughed, if only to vent the immediate surge of emotion. “Wouldn’t want anything else,” he whispered.

They made love again later in the night, and when Han took him and all his senses were once again swept towards ecstasy, Luke felt as if every question had at last been answered, and the restlessness paused inside him.

He was still wide awake when the first sun stole over the horizon and slanted a single ray of pale gold across the man next to him, deepening the light tan to a warm bronze. With a deep breath, Han rolled over to bury his face in the pillow. Luke smiled and, finally letting his eyes slip closed, rested his face against the warm back.

By the time the first sun’s blushing twin rose in the sky, Luke was soundly asleep.

* * * * *


End file.
